


Close Encounters of Badass Virginians

by AuntieEm30



Series: Badass Virginians [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum characters, F/M, Friends to Lovers, If that wasn't clear before, Kink, Prequel, You heard me, and protection, building of a relationship, frank discussion of sexual boundaries, lots of ballroom dancing stuff, mind the different rating, neurodivergent characters, only a little angst because I said so, post-military adjustment, super-brief mention of suicide attempts (military medical care)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieEm30/pseuds/AuntieEm30
Summary: The building of a partnership in three stages.  Two nerds returned home experience camaraderie, companionship, intimacy, and finally dedication.
Relationships: George Washington/Martha Washington
Series: Badass Virginians [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677925
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. Danse, Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> Martha's maiden name is Duarte instead of Dandridge, because Cuban parents. I'm trying hard to keep the years lining up, but I'm probably more concerned about the timeline than any of you are lol.

Martha couldn’t help but be incredibly relieved when Alex told her and George that first night that he wasn’t yet interested in sexual matters. Of course, given the sensitive topic and the age group of the person in question, there was a decent chance he hadn’t been truthful in the statement (he still hadn’t really known them yet, obviously). Still, she chose to take his assurance at face value for the time being, and if/when that appeared to change, she’d be ready with the diagrams, a comprehensive breakdown of different forms of protection, and a stern lecture regarding consent (and a list of what to never, ever use as substitute lubrication).

But on the rare occasion she thought of it, It wasn’t the hard science of that prospective future conversation that concerned her. Much though they wanted to be able to, neither Martha nor George felt equipped to give Alex advice in regards to the emotional and social elements of any potential romantic relationships (besides the really obvious things). They, as a pair, had been something of an outlier, and they didn’t know how well their experiences would translate to his potential circumstances.

The first several years of their relationship were almost entirely through correspondence, rather than the predominantly physical interaction of many courtships. When they were finally both back in the states for the foreseeable future, neither really knew how to spend time with each other face-to-face. 

They only knew that they wanted to. 

But that took time.

_2008 – Norfolk, VA_

Martha Duarte waited in line in the hangar bay, her sea bag on her back. She wished she could say she waited patiently, but no one was genuinely patient right now.

Eight months at sea now over, and her mother and her sister were waiting out in that massive, teeming crowd, ready to take her on leave for a non-ship meal, a proper bed, and a shower that wasn’t either sweltering or frigid depending on the current latitude. For a week of not having to worry about falls, burns, lacerations, infections, flight deck accidents… or suicide attempts. Hopefully. Please, god, hopefully.

And in between catching up with family... Quiet. Blissful, private quiet.

Her and five thousand other people had been stuck with each other for two thirds of a year, and were all craving the same things (for the most part).

The line advanced by a few feet, and she could practically feel the restlessness pulsing through all of them.

(She could also feel the stiffness in her knees from standing in place so long.)

*************

_2008 – Winchester, VA_

George Washington had spent the recent weeks telling himself it wasn’t embarrassing to be living back in his parents’ home at his age and at this stage in his career. This was a transitional period; it was fine. He’d gotten his acceptance into the Master’s program he wanted, he had the information for some places he might live once the term starts, and he was prepared to go see them in person soon. 

What did it matter that he’d barely talked to anyone beyond his family, his new advisor, and the cashiers at the supermarket since he’d been back?

It was fine.

He’d been absently pacing his old room, sorting his possessions into those that would go to Maryland with him, and those that would get packed away long-term. The garment bag hanging in the closet caught his eye, and he pulled it out. 

He pulled the zipper down a few inches, and the sight of the dress uniform inside sparked a now-familiar mix of loss and relief in him. Confusion and anxiety, and profound freedom.

His phone chimed behind him, and he hung the bag back up before turning to retrieve it from his bedside table.

_-Damnit Jim!_

He let out a short laugh.

Martha.

Ever since he’d advanced to O-3, she’d taken to sometimes teasing him in their letters by addressing him that way, in reference to the Captain of the (possible future) Enterprise. Never mind that the same word in two separate ranking systems meant entirely different things and they both knew it, because of his rank and her professional field she was amused either way. 

Wait. If she could text, then she surely had to be back in reception range, with her phone activated. That meant…

_-When did you get in, Bones?_

_-Just now. Looking forward to the week of freedom!_

He paused, considering. A week. A week just before he would go to Maryland to look at apartments close to campus.

_-Is there any time in that week when you could grab some pho with your pen pal, if he happens to be in the area?_

He waited for a reply, telling himself he had no particular vested interest in what it would be.

_-I think that can be arranged. Let’s add milkshakes!_

He smiled to himself.

*************

_One month later_

_-Hey. What are you doing this evening?_

Martha looked at the message on her phone, the words somewhat piercing the somber semi-trance she’d put herself into. She briefly debated what to reply.

She thought _Not much, just having a drink to the memory of my deceased father_ might come across the wrong way. Callous, or self-pitying, or… something. But, she realized, right then she didn’t have the energy or the inclination to mince words.

And who knows? Maybe George would understand.

She sent off her originally intended reply, more or less.

- _Oh, I’m so sorry. It is that day isn’t it? Is there anything I can do?_

She smiled sadly. Kind, compassionate George.

- _It’s ok. Yep, three years now. I don’t—_

She paused, her fingers going still on the keys. Part of her wanted to say there was nothing George could do, that she was fine.

The other part of her was remembering her mother’s words from years ago: “You have to ask if you want something. People aren’t mind readers. You might not get it, there’s no harm in asking.”

Not giving herself time to overthink, she sent off the last text before sending a new one.

- _Honestly? I don’t want to be alone. If it’s any trouble, then don’t worry about it. But if you wouldn’t mind…_

The message had only been in the ether for what felt like less than fifteen seconds before she got a reply.

- _It’s no trouble. I’m actually already out and about now. Am I going to your place?_

She smiled thinly, a lump forming in her throat.

- _Yeah, I shouldn’t be behind the wheel. Thank you_

_-Understood. Is there anything I should bring?_

_-No. Just you._

And just over a half-hour later, there he was. She stood to open the door and let him in, and he looked her over in concern.

“When you said you were drinking, I was worried. But you look okay, all things considered.”

She gave a short, ironic huff. She knew how she looked. “I know my thresholds, and I know to eat and stay hydrated. I’m having a funk, not a death wish.”

“I’m glad,” George said seriously, following her inside. He took her cue and sat on the couch, not awkwardly, but leaving space between them.

“How are you?” he asked simply. “Not just about this, but about anything.”

She was silent for a long moment, her elbows on her knees.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted lowly. “I got so used to the jet launches, the engines…”

“It’s too quiet,” George guessed. She nodded. 

“Too still, too. No water, no motion.”

He nodded. “I could send you some white noise stuff that helps me, if you want.”

“…That’d be nice. Thanks.”

He was quiet for a long moment, steady, watchful but not intrusive.

“How do you remember him?” he finally asked. “Besides the drink, I mean.”

She swallowed. “I tried listening to the music he liked, the past two years. I had some stuff on my computer, but it wasn’t quite the same.” She looked at the stereo and the stacks of CDs across the room. “I haven’t gotten to it yet tonight.”

Hesitantly, he stood from the couch and crossed to the stereo. He looked over the variety of albums for a few moments, before carefully picking one up. Turning, he showed it to Martha. She shook her head silently, and he put it down. After another short perusal, he showed her another, and with a wet look appearing in her eyes, she nodded.

“He liked Etta James?” he asked, opening the case and inserting the disk into the player.

“Yeah. Lots from her era.” 

George got the music playing, before returning to sit beside Martha. 

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “He’s dead, Jim.”

He simply put a hand on her shoulder, gently, slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he was permitted. “I know.”

She shook her head ruefully. “I could see it in his face when I told him and Mom I planned to enlist. It wasn’t really disappointed; I mean, he got it. It was more he was afraid. Not just for my physical life. All the other stuff too.”

George nodded. He knew a bit about the other stuff. Given the differences in their circumstances, he wondered if she’d had even more of the other stuff to wrestle with.

_“…Oh, I’m weary all of the time… the time…”_

“And then when he went, I wasn’t here. How’s that for a kick in the face?”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he insisted steadily.

“I know that,” she said, with no anger directed at him. “But knowledge and feeling do not like to cooperate much.”

He knew that too.

Gradually, he drew happier stories out of her memory, switched the CDs, and kept himself in the moment as long as he needed to so that she could feel even a little better. As the hours passed, she finished the current drink but didn’t pour another.

She slowly realized that his physical presence now was just as comforting as his letters had always been.

When she drifted off with her head leaning against his shoulder, she felt no fear. And when she woke up in the exact same place in the exact same state the next morning, only with a light blanket thrown across her and a fresh glass of water waiting on the coffee table, she felt no regret.

**************

_Two months later_

Martha and George had taken refuge from an early heat wave in a small diner. Having returned from deployment very close her own separation, and having recently finished her Bachelor's degree through distance learning, she was now in a position similar to George's, and they'd split the distance to meet in Richmond on the weekend to catch up.

Apparently, she'd also been keeping a small secret.

" _Hopkins?!"_ he shouted, heedless of the other lunch customers. "Martha!"

He didn't have to give a second's thought or hesitation before haphazardly sliding out of his side of the booth and around to Martha's to tackle her in a hug.

She accepted it, laughing.

"That's so amazing! I'm so happy for you!"

'Thank you," she replied, smiling as he released her and leaned back. "I probably already studied five years off of my total life span, but it'll be worth it, hopefully."

"I know it will," George assured. "You earned it."

"Now I just have to survive it," she said wryly. "And you're doing well for yourself too, remember."

He looked down at his place setting, feeling himself go slightly warm behind the ears.

Conversation calmed for a time after that while they ate, and by the time they were waiting for their checks, Martha had become contemplative, possibly even serious.

“So… we’ve been in correspondence for quite a while.”

He nodded, wondering why it was relevant right now. “I’d certainly say so. Eight years and counting.”

“And, by that metric, we’ve known each other a long time. We know each other well, at least over a distance. We’re good friends.”

“Yes. Great friends.”

“And now we’re both here again. And that’s been nice.”

“I agree, quite nice.”

“Soooo… I kind of have the feeling I’d like to try dating.”

“Oh.” He expected that his confusion (and a degree of disappointment) must have shown on his face, because she spoke again, her head tilted to the side slightly.

“Dating each other, I mean. Me and you.”

“Oh!” He couldn’t prevent a small exhale of relief from escaping. “Yeah. I mean, I like that idea. I think it’s… solid.”

Martha nodded. “Cool.” She seemed to be taking a moment to process the development. “Cool.”

“Cool,” George agreed, trying to tell the small part of his brain that was throwing a sizeable celebratory party to calm the hell down.

They both took a long drink from their sodas at the same time. For all that it was maybe a bit awkward, it also made them both smile.

**********

Of course, the pleasant change in the nature of their relationship in theory raised a new question: Just what the hell to actually do about it.

George had tried dating off and on in the past, but each venture was rather short-lived, and left him feeling that he had no usable experience. He felt that since Martha had been the one bold enough to raise the question in the first place, he should also show some proactiveness in this whole ‘dating’ thing. The issue he found himself with was that every one of the ‘typical’ kinds of dates he knew of made him want to bury his head under a pillow, lock the door and turn off the lights.

Dinner dates usually meant far too much time directly face-to-face, which meant awkward, forced eye contact, and alternating periods of feeling like he was talking too much and periods of uncomfortable quiet between topics. Movies were a total crapshoot in terms of what you would see, paired with usually two hours if not more being in very close proximity to someone – and sometimes, that someone wanted to be even closer (read: handsy), leaving George feeling as tense as a too-tight drum head. 

Going to a bar? No way, there were far easier and more cost-effective ways to get a headache, thank you.

Reluctantly, he asked his family for advice on one of his weekly dinner visits.

“Laser tag?” Laurie suggested. George reluctantly shook his head. It did sound vaguely fun, but it also sounded like it could go badly in more than one way.

“Museum,” his mother Dorothy said simply. George did like that idea, but he wondered if Martha might find it unexciting. And who knew how long it would take to get through one? What if one or both of them got tired before the end?

“Maybe for a second or third date,” he replied. “…If we get that far,” he added morosely, his brow furrowing.

“Ask her if she wants to go dancing. Girls usually like being asked out to dance,” his father offered, not taking his eyes off the page of his battered paperback. “Though maybe the USO isn’t quite as popular a locale nowadays.”

“Not really, no,” George replied, frowning. The idea had merit, he supposed, but he’d tried going to a dance club once, and he’d been overwhelmed and miserable the whole time. But it was his best lead so far, so he took to the newspaper ads, message boards around campus, and finally the internet, looking for an alternate option. Turned out there was one, and one that was a bit closer to Hopkins than to UM, so he had a moderate degree of confidence when asking Martha to go. When she agreed, he felt even more assured of the night going well.

However…

“This… isn’t exactly what I was picturing,” George said, moderately embarrassed, during a break after the first lesson. It wasn’t as if frequently leaving your date partner to dance with various others in short succession, including those at least twenty years older than you, was anyone’s idea of romantic. But it was the lesson and social dancing etiquette, so it was expected.

“That’s okay,” Martha said mildly. “It’s fascinating.” She seemed to mean it too; she gave equal attention to the figures being taught and the basic technique described for them as he imagined she gave to her medical classes. Without the frustration and stress, so that was a plus.

They both had enjoyed the swing lesson, with it's upbeat tempo, bouncing steps and easy distance kept between both parties.

The second dance of the night, however, was a change of pace -- literally and figuratively.

“There’s three types of tango: Argentinian, American, and International," the female instructor began. "And they all sort of convey different moods. Argentinian, aka the original, is like the beginning of a romantic relationship when everything is exciting and new and you can’t stop banging each other.”

Martha and George both gave short, awkward laughs.

“International is like when you’ve been married five years and you’re really comfortable with each other and in each other’s space. American tango is when you’ve been married twelve years and there’s some loathing, and you’re only staying together for the kids… though there might still be some angry boning.”*

There were a few salty chuckles around the gathered students at that.

Tango turned out to be... an adjustment. Foremost, there was the issue of actually moving in a line around the dance floor, as opposed to being able to stay in one vague space like in swing. As the lead, it was on him to direct Martha where to go without running her into anything (like corners, support pillars, or other couples). Second was them having to step between each other's feet in close parallel paths, without stepping on each other's feet and ankles (there were quite a few failures on that front). Then there was what the instructors called 'core connection': the way partners' torsos were meant to be touching, and slightly offset, for easier mobility and clearer nonverbal communication. "No room for Jesus in these dances," they'd said jokingly.

Basically, every romantic movie he'd ever seen involving some sort of vague ballroom dancing had lied, George thought with a degree of saltiness. However, this type of closed-frame dancing, as they'd called it, came with a trade-off. Namely, that when you were close enough to your partner (and in his case, looking ahead at the path), you were too close to comfortably look them in the eye. Something he was grateful for.

Still, being so physically close to strangers felt exceptionally awkward, sometimes to the brink of discomfort, and if it felt like that for him, he could only imagine how Martha felt.

Still, they pushed through, and at the end of the night, Martha surprised him by asking when they could try it again. They both had extremely hectic schedules coming for them, not to mention a respectable distance between their respective schools, but George found himself eager to find a way to work it out.

**************

A few weeks later found their hands joined, joking and occasionally stumbling as they tried to add the swiveling hip action the instructors described to their cha-cha steps. The upbeat music helped keep the mood light and fun.

“’I’ve got a fever… and the only prescription is more cowbell,’” Martha quoted with smirk. He laughed.

*************

"How is this so hard?" George wondered, when they'd had to pause again. 

"Beats me," Martha said with a frown. "It's got to be one of the most well-known dances in the world. So I don't know why we've both suddenly got two left feet."

"Don't feel bad," one of the retired students offered, passing them with his wife. "Waltz is deceptively difficult. Everyone struggles in the beginning."

'That makes me feel a little better," George mumbled. Martha patted his shoulder.

"Come on, let's show this stupid dance who's boss."

*************

“ _Aaahhh_ , what the ever-loving shit? I thought I was in shape,” Martha hissed, leaning over with her hands on her knees and breathing heavily.

“I thought I was too,” George huffed, in similar state leaning against the wall, trying to stretch away the burning in his calves and shins in turn. “Let’s never jive again.”

“Agreed.”

(They jived again eventually.)

*************

Their dance lessons slowed down, and they had to rely more on calling and texting as their respective schooling kicked into high gear. Still, they made a point to meet face-to-face twice a month, and when George called one night in October, Martha’s voice carried a glimmer of excitement in lieu of the normal stress.

“A haunted house?”

“Haunted house, hayride, and corn maze, actually” she replied. “Not far away. On the weekend, too. If you wouldn’t want to go home that late, you could come back and sleep at my place.”

“It sounds great, Martha, it’s just…”

He couldn’t see her, but he suspected her brows were furrowed. “Just what?”

He took a steadying breath. “It’s just, if we go I might have a slight issue.”

“What kind of issue?”

“This might sound weird… I might have an issue with the lights. From what I’ve heard those kinds of attractions have a lot of light effects, like flashing or strobes, stuff like that. I have a sensitivity to it. They don’t cause me to have seizures, it’s just… overwhelming. Not in a good way.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a moment, and he found himself wishing he could see her expression. “Well, that’s alright. We don’t have to go, we could do something else.”

“But you want to go.”

“I can go some other time, get my roommate to go with me or something. I don’t want to drag you somewhere that will be bad or painful for you.”

“But it probably won’t all be like that,” he suggested. “The rest of it sounds like a lot of fun. I could just, I don’t know, close my eyes for the worst of it.” He unconsciously squeezed his knee. “You could lead me.”

She was quiet again, before he heard a warm sigh passed through the phone into his ear.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, dress warm and prepare for a night of spooky fun, then.”

He chuckled. “I will thoroughly ready myself for the spooking.”

*************

George was apprehensive but cautiously hopeful regarding their night out. He’d taken a public bus to Martha’s place, as they’d agreed to meet there and go to the attraction together. She’d greeted him with an eager smile, her heavy black sweater bearing a white collar and her curls corralled into twin braids in homage to Wednesday Addams.

“Oh dear. Am I going to have to be concerned about something suspicious befalling me tonight?” he joked. 

“I don’t think so,” she replied easily. “It’s only outsiders that she poses a real danger to.”

She said it in such a way, sending him such a sly smile, that he couldn’t help the slight shiver that went through him. And, he realized, it was a good shiver.

They arrived, parked, and purchased their tickets without a hitch. Choosing the corn maze first (“A good warm-up, I’ll bet,” Martha suggested), they approached the entrance. Feeling a particular sort of mood come over him, George offered Martha his arm, and she looped hers through it without hesitation. It certainly gave his evening a good boost to start on.

As they made their way along the narrow paths between the walls of dying stalks, he found his gaze on Martha almost as often as it was on their surroundings. He was endlessly fascinated by the appreciation and delight on her face as she took in the morbid trappings: the latex limbs, the corn syrup blood splatters, the harmless spider webs and the clearly electronic screams of terror. When one of the actors-turned pop culture serial killers would get a bit too close, making George tense, Martha’s shoulders would jump to the level of her ears, but she’d respond to their gruesome taunts with good cheer.

He remembered her saying in one of her letters how many of her co-workers, who had often come to the fleet from paramedic or EMT work, had quite grim senses of humor in order to be able to cope with the things the dealt with on their watch. He’d noted similar traces in her words at times, and wondered if she had developed one out of necessity as well, or if she’d had the needed outlook from the start.

The further they went, he noticed that when they encountered small groups of young teenagers in the maze, with no parents in sight, Martha would keep one eye on them. When Freddy or Jason or someone would leap out of the corn, she would let the kids duck behind her as they screamed in surprise, even sometimes raising an arm between them and the actors. George noticed, and became a few degrees more enamored than before.

Given the relative simplicity of the maze, it didn’t take them long to find their way to the exit. They decided on the hayride next, joined the line, and we quickly able to climb aboard the flat trailer.

Once the ride started, they realized that this part of the attraction was more segmented. They would ride for a time under the open sky, fields on one side and deep black woods on the other. Then the tractor would pull them into a barn or other farm structure, and the doors would close and plunge them into darkness before the new theme of horror would reveal itself. 

Cannibalism seemed to be a popular trend, as was general torture and dismemberment with agricultural equipment. 

It was well-paced, he realized gratefully. They would only be enclosed in the intense barn-stages briefly before the doors would rise again and they would move along into the quieter, chilly night air.

“Oh, damn,” Martha muttered suddenly, looking ahead past the immediate chainsaw-murderers. “Okay. Here comes the worst of the lights, it looks like.” Looking where she had, George did indeed see the effects of strobe lights cast onto the fields around the corner. She put her arm around his shoulders, silently urging him to lean down and block his eyes in the junction of her neck and shoulder. He did so willingly, and his breathing and the rest of his frame stayed relaxed as a result. What he had to miss, she could describe to him later if he wanted.

When the hayride returned to the main grounds and concluded, they jumped down and brushed the stray straw off each other. They’d just decided to buy a plate of funnel cake to share when it happened.

“Some man you are, needing to hide from the scary monsters behind your girlfriend!”

Martha closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it to push out the sudden tension in her shoulders. Couldn’t just have one night of seasonal fun without some shit-for-brains coming along. Oh, no, of course not.

George had clearly heard, but seemed to be aiming to ignore the taunt. 

She’d long grown exhausted with that method.

“Well, he’s man enough to come here with me in the first place, so I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make.”

The college-aged-looking boy looked her up and down as she moved forward to casually stand just ahead of George. “Well, I’m sure you could do better than such a pussy, senorita.”

Her left eye twitched.

“Well, curiously, I didn’t actually ask your opinion on the matter, _bro_. And if you’re offering your services on that front, I’ll have to say no thanks – in no small part because of first impressions. And frankly, you don’t know anything about either of us, so why don’t you move along?”

Her heart was beating faster, but at least her words were flowing free. It had always been easier to speak in defense of someone else than for herself.

The interloper didn’t appreciate that, however, as his mediocre excuse for a flirty smirk was quickly replaced by a scowl, and he took two steps toward her.

“It’s a free country. Maybe I don’t want to move along. You think you can make me?”

As he got closer, she could smell the cheap beer on his breath. Processing that, she took note of his rigid posture – likely an intimidation tactic – and his wide shoulders in comparison to his waist, hips and legs. Slower reactions? Unstable base. Potentially top heavy.

“If necessary,” she said coolly.

The shit-head began to take another step… but leaned back as George stepped forward into his intended space, shoulder-to-shoulder with Martha.

“I’ve worked in an environment that made me realize I rather don’t like violence,” he said, with quiet steadiness. “But I’m willing to make exceptions…” His eyes cut briefly aside to Martha. “…if necessary.”

The other guy sneered, but at least seemed aware that in stature he was outclassed, and outnumbered.

A security guard for the grounds seemed pop up beside the three as if from out of nowhere.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked.

Martha forced eye contact with the douchebag, lifting her chin. “Is there?”

His sense finally overpowered his personality, and he reluctantly stepped back. “Nope. No problem here.”

He resentfully turned and shuffled off to whatever trash can he’d crawled out of.

Both Martha and George thanked the guard, before they tentatively joined the funnel cake line. They were both silent for several moments before George spoke softly.

“You didn’t have to do that.” It was voiced not with the resentment of bruised ego, but with resignation. The fatigue of someone long-used to how they were treated.

“Neither did you,” she replied evenly. 

Her words were met with no verbal reply, but with the cautious brush of a warm hand against her own.

She gladly took it, squeezing gently.


	2. (Not) Strangers in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes as the two become closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: the frank discussion of protection, kinks and sexual boundaries as listed in the fic's general tags;  
> YEA BE WARNED  
> 'foreplay' as main focus of intimate scene; nerds being awkward and cute together.

It turned out George did also have to close his eyes during a section of the ‘haunted’ house, and let Martha lead him. She didn’t let him down either; telling him when to turn, when to duck, and when to lift his feet higher over a trip hazard. Sometimes even the sound effects were intense, but he managed, and when they were through the worst of it, he could open his eyes and enjoy the controlled mayhem with her.

They finally came out the other side in good spirits, the rude young man from before all but forgotten, discussing the various settings they’d passed through.

“So, was it everything nightmares are made of?” George asked, enjoying the feeling of Martha’s hand still in his.

“Hmm. Nightmares? Maybe not. Fever dreams without the fever, sure,” she replied easily. “Now, being in desperate need of the head—sorry, bathroom, going through the whole ship to find one and they’re all occupied or closed for maintenance? That’s a nightmare. An annoyingly common one, in fact.”

He chuckled. “The gore and carnage is great and all, but you know something I’d love to see as an attraction?”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A working mystery house, you know, with the secret passages behind bookshelves, and trap doors with slides to illicit but vague laboratories. Maps to obscure treasure hidden in mundane things. Portraits with eyes you can look through.”

She turned to him, face illuminated with surprised delight. “I’d love to be in a mystery house!” She paused, still smiling. “Then again, I’d also love to have a secret laboratory of my own someday. Not for anything shady; I’d just grow regular plants and like, make cocktails or something. But the aesthetic would be amazing.”

“I think you could make anything amazing,” he said without thinking. 

Silence reigned for a moment.

At first, George thought he wanted to crawl into a hole. But when he saw the expression on her face, he realized that what he really wanted was to say it again, many times.

Martha looked away and cleared her throat, feeling it get tight for a moment. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She took a deliberate breath, rolling her shoulders, before looking at him again.

“I think you could too. You’ve certainly made these last few months better for me than they would have been otherwise.”

George lightly squeezed her hand. “I’m glad. And the feeling’s mutual.”

With the sudden influx of sentiment easing, the resumed their path toward the exit, passing the souvenir hut with its mugs, bottle openers, t-shirts and creepy music CDs, a sample of which was played over speakers. The music faintly followed them through the exit to the edge of the parking lot, where a massive scarecrow stood vigil, smaller monsters flanking it. Calls of nocturnal birds mingled with the wood smoke from nearby chimneys drifting on the air. They paused at the scarecrow's feet a moment.

“All in all, did you have a good time?” Martha asked.

“I did, very much so,” he replied, at ease. “I’m glad you asked me.”

“I’m glad you agreed,” she returned. She looked up at him quietly for a long moment, and his heart began beating faster with an unnameable anticipation.

“I want to kiss you right now, George,” she murmured, in an almost musing sort of tone. “What do you think about that?”

He swallowed, his pulse spiking. “I – I’m very onboard with that idea,” he replied, as steady as possible.

A wide smile spread across her face, and she stepped closer to him, and he leaned his head down to meet her.

He’d tried it a few times in his life, with others. He’d never been convinced of its appeal, never felt that coveted spark. And even now, it wasn’t world-changing; it wasn’t electric; it wasn’t fireworks.

But something about the warm, gentle press of Martha’s lips against his, the way her hand on his sternum grounded him, the lingering taste of the sugar from the funnel cake between them…

He _did_ feel something now. Something not remotely uncomfortable.

Something worthwhile.

************

_November 2008_

This week was foxtrot, the last lesson before the holiday. It wasn’t a favorite of either of them, but it was a rather “chill” dance that was a good chance to work on technique – to edge closer to those long, smooth, elegant strides and flow. George was getting better at leading, and Martha was gradually able to trust his direction, so she carried less of the tension that caused her to trip them up or stumble. They were both now more comfortable being so close together, enabling them to get around each other much easier.

“So, are you going to see your family for the holiday?” George asked when they took a water break.

“Only for the actual day and a little bit before,” she replied, wiping at the sweat on her forehead. “The rest of my time will pretty much be studying. You?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m just going to wait until winter break and see them all then.”

She frowned. “You’re staying at campus?”

“Yeah. There’s been a thing set up for students whose families are too far away, they can’t afford to travel. A lot of undergrads are going to still be around and probably pretty homesick, so some of us are putting together a group meal as a substitute.”

She looked at him, then shook her head in an affectionate way. “That’s so you. Very wholesome.”

Despite the awkward wording, George could tell she meant it as a compliment, and it made him smile to himself. 

“I guess I like being wholesome. I like helping out the younger students, make sure they don’t get into shenanigans, when I’m able.”

She beamed. “Part of what makes you awesome,” she said, giving him a quick peck before they returned to the dance floor and resumed frame.

He could write off the warmth in his face as exertion from dancing… but it did nudge him to hold her a little closer.

_January 2009_

“So, you have enough protection, right?” Justine asked.

Martha resisted rolling her eyes only because she knew her sister asked out of genuine and understandable concern.

“Yes, I have enough protection.”

“And not just one type, right? Because you’ve got oral to contend with, and latex and non-latex, and lu-“

“ _Yes,_ for fuck’s sake, I have it all. You get that stuff practically thrown at you on clinic rotations, they’re so desperate to improve sex education. You know, I _am_ a – well, I _will_ be a doctor. Eventually. But I am the healthcare professional, I know about latex versus non-latex and all of it.”

She plopped down on Justine’s worn bean-bag chair with a huff.

It hadn’t been totally random concern that had led her sister to question her level of preparedness for sexual encounters. She and George had been dating for four months, growing closer all the while – even if it was still largely from a distance. When George had recently asked her to dinner over the later part of winter break, she’d initially assumed it would be in the vein of their few-ish normal dates – late-night breakfast, mom-and-pop pizza, Vietnamese, or the like. His observable level of nervousness didn’t line up with those, though, and when he suggested a restaurant fancier than they normally went for, she’d asked point-blank if what he was really asking about was dinner followed by spending the night, in the physical sense. After blushing a moment, he’d straightened his back and firmly replied that if she was comfortable with the idea, then yes, he’d like if that happened.

She’d replied in the affirmative, and they briefly discussed the logistics of the evening, and later she’d had the dumb idea to share the development with her big sister, which left her in her current situation. 

And it certainly wasn’t like she regretted what she’d told George. It wasn’t like she was _un-_ comfortable with the idea – if he’d asked right when they’d met again for the first time after their respective years of service, it would be a different story. It was just that even with someone she was attracted to and physically interested in, the prospect of crossing that line immediately brought to mind a great deal of questions and discussions and individual hurdles to deal with, and taken together it was almost headache-inducing.

And worse was that Justine could tell… which had prompted her interrogation.

“Urgh, this is shit. I’m now twenty-seven, and _this_ goddamn nervous about spending the night with a guy I’ve known for years and technically already spent the night with.”

“I’m pretty sure sleeping on his couch after organized dancing and playing MarioKart doesn’t count in the way you’re talking about, Marth,” Justine offered from the bed where she sketched. Martha glared at her.

“I’m grade-A ridiculous. I should just go join a cult devoted to Artemis or something.”

“Well, I mean if that’s what you really want, I’ll support you.”

Martha responded only by throwing a sweater from the laundry pile at her, which she batted aside with an amused snort before she sobered, nudging Martha’s foot with her own.

“In all seriousness, I totally get it. But I also think that, provided you really are comfortable with him, it’ll go a lot smoother than you’re thinking. If he’s as good a guy as you say, then he’ll be cool with whatever you need. And if not, you’ve got me to steal his kneecaps and trash him on social media.”

Martha chuckled. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, but thanks.”

***********

After talking and spending time with Justine, Martha’s earlier anxiety had gone into hibernation, and she was feeling good about tonight.

Well, amending that, she felt good tonight in general. She’d made it through the hell of semester finals, and without succumbing to the intrusive compulsion to squeeze just a little more productivity out of the day by attempting to snort a ground-up caffeine tablet. Justine and her son were doing well, and from limited interactions her mother’s new beau wasn’t sending up any ‘asshole’ red flags. 

And there was a small part of her that, after years in uniform followed by comfort and professionalism for classes, got a little extra spark of dopamine from feeling pretty. So, there was that.

She was back at her parents’ home for the winter break, where George would pick her up this time – if things went well tonight, there was no point in taking two cars or meeting at the restaurant. 

She left her old room, dressed and lightly coiffed with classy tote bag in tow, needing only her coat now. Of course, she should have anticipated her mother waylaying her.

“Look at you, all dolled up,” Isabel observed with a faint smile. “You have fun tonight.”

“I will Mom, thanks.”

“But you’re careful, right? Not that I would be upset about more grandchildren, but it’s still a bit early for you and George-“

“Yes, yes, I’m careful, and thank you for the commentary,” Martha cut her off, affection warring with mild irritation. She was rescued from further discussion on the topic by a knock at the door. She hugged her mother briefly in farewell before making a break for it.

She opened the door to George, and they shared a smile. George exchanged brief pleasantries with Isabel, and then they were off.

“You look extra beautiful tonight,” he said as he carefully drove further into the city, the radio low.

It was a mark of how much closer they gotten in the last months, and how much she’d stopped being thrown by his sincerity that she didn’t brush it off. “Thank you. You’re looking quite sharp yourself,” she replied.

For most of the short drive they were quiet, George focused on the road and Martha only reading out the short directions printout to the restaurant they’d agreed upon. Before long, they’d arrived, parked and entered, and they didn’t have to wait long before they were shown to a table. When they were comfortably seated, they suddenly found themselves in an awkward pause. Having never been on so formal a date together before, this was new territory. They looked at each other for a moment, before simultaneously laughing at themselves.

They weren’t strangers. They knew each other’s favorite kinds of music and broader fears and frustrations about life; they knew each other’s pet peeves (on paper) and even a few embarrassing childhood stories. This wasn’t alien territory.

Martha shook her head as they reached for their menus. “Now that we’ve remembered how to be human beings, how have you been? How’s the semester treated you, now that it’s over?”

“It’s been a bit rough, but I’m getting through,” he replied, looking down at the options and up at her intermittently. “What about you?”

“Pretty much same, with maybe some extra ‘rough’ on the side.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep, eating decently?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought I usually ask the health-related questions.”

“Well, maybe I want to speak your language a bit more,” he said, his tone a mixture of teasing and seriousness. She gave a slight huff, smiling.

“I would say sleep is for the weak, but I do in fact know that’s an unhealthy attitude to have.”

He shook his head. “Thank goodness for that!”

They continued in a similar vein, in between placing and waiting for their orders, asking about the wellbeing of each other’s families and so on.

“I’m thinking of adopting a dog,” George said contemplatively, shortly after their food arrived. Martha looked up, her eyes bright with excitement.

“That would such a good idea! You’d be great at caring for a pet. Would you try to get a big dog, or a little one or in between?”

He smiled at her reaction. “I’d want a big fluffy one, but for practicality’s sake I should probably keep my eyes peeled for something smaller.”

“I’d like to have a pet, but there’s just not enough time to give to one, I’d probably stink at remembering to exercise it,” she said wistfully.

“Do you have time to do _anything_ but study and work? Besides our lessons, I mean.”

“Now and then I hit the gym, and then hit the heavy bag.”

“Well, if I ever need a protection detail for any reason…”

She snorted.

For all of their conversation, it seemed like hardly any time had passed before they were finished and waiting for the check.

George gaze was taking her in again.

“I wish we could dance,” he said quietly. “But this place isn’t meant for that, and it would just get in the staff’s way.”

Martha put her hand over his on the table, gently yet with just a bit of even pressure.

“We might be dancing soon enough,” she murmured, her eyes roving over him in return. She noticed how his pupils expanded as he swallowed, and felt how he turned his hand palm upward to clasp hers.

When the check arrived and Martha casually took it, the waiter, Richard, gave George a pointed look that couldn’t have been more clear if were broadcasting his thoughts through a speaker.

_Really? You’re gonna let her take it?_

“Oh, don’t worry,” she casually told him in a low but clear voice, putting her credit card into the small folder. “He’s covering the room later.”

George promptly sputtered into his water glass, while Richard flushed tomato-red, stammering about bringing Martha’s card back while looking anywhere but at her, before beating a hasty retreat. George put his glass down and patted his mouth with his napkin, before shaking his head in amusement.

“You really like telling social mores where they can stick it, don’t you?” he asked, reaching across the table.

“I have zero shits to give,” she affirmed with a smile, placing her hand in his.

***********

When they’d entered the comfortable-but-modest hotel room, turned on a light, and locked the door behind them, they found themselves in one of the most pressing silences either had ever experienced. They both awkwardly removed their jackets, and Martha slipped off her shoes, setting her bag down on a chair. In the sudden absence of any words, the running of the room’s radiator was even louder than expected – like a faceless, mechanical third person was in the room laughing at them. 

Feeling desperate for something to happen, anything to break the sudden tension, George slipped his hands into his pockets and began humming the saxophone solo from “Careless Whisper.”

The full, joyful laugh that burst from Martha made him more relieved than he thought possible. And just like that, the tension eased.

“Very slick,” she offered, stepping toward him with a smile, and he pulled his hands out of his pockets to accept hers.

“I do try,” he replied, before gently bringing each of her hands in turn to his lips. Start small, and start honestly, his father had told him and his brother more than once.

A small breath escaped Martha’s throat. “Well… I’m glad.” She looked up into his face a moment, before she relaxed again, deciding she quite liked the page he was on. Rotating her hands and his with them, she pulled them closer, then slid hers out of the way so she could press a kiss to each of his palms, his wrists, leaving blossoms of warmth in the wake of each touch. He swallowed, then reached out to push some of her black curls behind one ear. His palm rested on her cheek after, and she leaned into the touch. “I’m… really glad.”

He swallowed. “That’s good.” His heart began beating faster as her hands lightly grasped the material of his dress shirt, just beneath his collar bones. When she made direct eye contact with him, it wasn’t uncomfortable at all, and he couldn’t help but take it as a good sign.

“Yes?” she asked simply, stepping closer.

He nodded. “Yes.”

They crossed the remaining distance together, lips meeting in the tentative but earnest way they often did, before gradually becoming more assured, more relaxed and energetic. Romance, George distantly realized, required warming-up, much like music or physical training. 

He soon stopped thinking even distantly of either of those things.

Their arms wrapped around each other as their lips gradually explored outward – cheekbones, eyelids, jaws. After dancing for months, pressing against each other now felt only natural, and the thrumming warmth between them grew.

“Can I carry you to the bed?” George murmured, pressing feather-light kisses to her temples and forehead. “I think that’d be nice.”

“It would be nice,” she replied distractedly, running her fingers through his hair. He leaned into the touch like a cat. “But are you sure? I weigh more than I look,” she muttered.

He drew back briefly to look at face. “How much more?”

She shrugged. “These days I average at 160.”

He smiled reassuringly. “I think I can manage that.”

Slowly, he reached down her leg, vigilant for any sign to stop, until his warm hand wrapped around the back of her knee. Getting the idea and nodding, she let him draw her leg up to hug his hip. It reminded her of an Argentinian tango demonstration they’d seen, and the mental image made her feel bolder.

“Yeah,” she rasped, looking into his face. “Let’s go. Three, two, one…”

She pushed off with the leg still supporting her weight, wrapping it around his waist and her arms around his shoulders as he quickly caught her, hands bracing under her thighs. He walked forward a few steps, leaning her back against the wall while he adjusted his hold.

“Hooookay. Goddamnit,” she muttered, breathing more rapidly.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” he asked in a similar vein, his face flushed.

“Nothing,” she assured quickly. “A good ‘Goddamnit.’”

“Oh, good.”

He began walking backward away from the wall, his broad hands splayed over and supporting her back. He’d shifted from kissing her cheeks and lips to her neck, and she’d tilted her head back with a sigh to give him better access and express her enjoyment. She opened her eyes, saw the ceiling, and frowned in dismay.

“What the _hell?”_ she muttered.

He followed her gaze in concern, saw the two figures in front of their house, and accidentally dropped Martha in surprise.

She cried out briefly when her knee hit the floor, and immediately after dissolved into hysterical laughter.

“Sorry! Are you okay?” George quickly asked through his own suppressed mirth, giving her a hand up.

“Yeah!” she replied, still in fits of giggles. “Who the fuck paints ‘American Gothic’ on a hotel room ceiling, I ask you?”

“I don’t know… maybe they were on drugs. Maybe they were into voyeurism,” he mused with a befuddled huff. “I didn’t know the name of that painting.”

“Well, my sister was super into art even from a young age. I got to hear a lot of art history and theory facts,” Martha replied. She shook her head, finally looking away from the bizarre décor back to George, resting a hand on his upper arm.

“So. You wanna try this again? Maybe skipping the carrying part,” she said with an easy smirk.

He smiled. “I think I do. Very much so.”

So she took his hand, and resumed their path.

*********

Approximately fifteen minutes later, during a break in the slow, exploratory kissing and general acclimation to being sensually touched, Martha leaned back, tilting her head contemplatively.

“It’s quiet – I mean, aside from our mechanical friend,” she noted, nodding towards the radiator. “You think we should put on some music?”

“I think that’s Hollywood poking its nose in,” he replied easily, running a hand up and down her arm. “I’d rather be able to hear each other easily.”

“Good point,” she said, before taking a deep breath.

“Okay, not to be a total mood-killer, but before this goes any further, we should probably clear some things up.”

George blinked, head tilting slightly. “Okay? Okay. What do you want to clear up?”

She gave a firm nod, more to herself than to him, before standing from the bed and crossing the room to her bag. She withdrew three zippered pouches that could have been mistaken for small shaving or toiletry kits, and brought them back to the bed, laying them out on top of the comforter.

“Alright,” she began, “protection kit, allergic reaction kit, basic first aid kit,” she explained, unzipping each one in turn. 

George stared down at the items.

“Um… wow.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Now I’m kind of embarrassed by how unprepared I am. I only brought some condoms and antibacterial wipes. And I wasn’t sure we’d even get around to using those.”

“Well, the more you know. To be honest I still don’t know what exactly we’ll get around to using – obviously I’m hoping to not have to use the allergic reaction or the first aid stuff, so, please tell me if you have a latex allergy. And I mean, I know what I’m not comfortable doing this early…”

He shifted to face her more directly, untying and removing his dress shoes before sitting cross-legged. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“I don’t know if anything can be considered ‘typical’ out-of-bounds items these days, but, well, no pain play, at least nothing major. Now or in the foreseeable future. No hitting, choking, or anything that can draw blood. Protection is non-negotiable. And dear god, please tell me you’re not into age play or anything close to urination or defecation. Deal-breakers.”

George stared, looking deeply alarmed. “I… really didn’t know about those last three being a thing. I’m not sure I want to know.”

“I’m pretty certain you don’t. I wish I could un-know. And this might seem weird, but I don’t really like the idea of anything mouth-to-genital related right now. Both ways. Mouths are mechanically dangerous, physiologically vital, and they’re basically petri dishes with flesh. Cool?” 

He processed that for a moment, making sure he understood what she meant, before nodding. “Cool.”

She let out a breath of relief. “Good. So, what about yours? What’s out-of-bounds for you? Tonight, or in general.”

He shrugged. “Pretty much everything you said, to be honest. As of right now. I’m not allergic to latex. I hadn’t really thought much about the oral stuff one way or another; it’s kind of pervasive in the way people talk about sex, so I just sort of mentally lumped it in together, but what you said makes a lot of sense. Aside from that… I’m honestly not sure. Can I think about it and get back to you?”

“Of course.”

“And, for tonight, I can just ask you to stop if I suddenly feel weird?”

“Absolutely, I want you to do that. And I’ll do the same.”

“Good… good,” he nodded, his expression giving away a mixture of relief and nerves.

She tentatively reached out and took his hand. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but what I’m sensing here is that you’re not any more experienced than I am.”

He looked back at her, trying to find signs of mockery or deception in her face and finding none.

“Wait, you haven’t?” She shrugged.

“That is correct.”

“But, you’re so confident, you know what you’re talking about and exactly what your boundaries are.”

She gave him a flat look.

“George. I’m training to be a doctor. I’ve worked in hospitals and infirmaries. Even if high school sex ed was shit, you learn about stuff fast in places like that. Also, the internet is becoming a dark place, full of knowledge both valuable and cursed.”

He considered that for a moment. “Oh. Yeah, makes sense.” He then remembered her original observation. “Yeah, I guess I am inexperienced. There was always just so much to learn and so much ongoing training even after the academy, and in what little free time there was I just never felt the need to go out and find someone to sleep with. There was always something more interesting available to do. And every time I did start to feel something for someone, it was someone I worked with, so…”

“Regs,” Martha finished, her voice carrying a tone of solidarity.

“Regs,” George agreed. “So, not worth it.”

She nodded, gently taking her hand back to stretch out and lie sideways across the bed, leaning her head on one palm. “Same for me. I mean, there were a few guys outside my command that I dated short-term that seemed pretty interested, but… eh. I just never felt it. And when a little time passed and I still didn’t feel it and they picked up on it, they moved on. And I didn’t care. I didn’t know them enough, and I was never invested enough to care. In a couple cases I was seriously relieved. And it’s not like I can’t get myself off if I want to. So, there’s that.”

He nodded and leaned back, his hands bracing on the bed behind him, looking contemplative. “So… are we really here, right now in this context, because that’s… what we’re supposed to do? Like playing a role?”

She considered him for a moment, then shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think so. For one thing, playing the ‘role’ that comes with the usual ideas of romance and sex has never appealed to me, so I tend to avoid the situations and the people who seem like they might lead to that. That’s one of the reasons I virtually never go to bars. And for another…” 

She looked down at the pattern of the bedspread, suddenly a bit nervous-sounding. “I like you, George. I _really_ like you, in a more – _total_ way than I can remember liking anyone else. I could tell you were compassionate and smart and just _bright_ from all our letters, and now that we’ve been able to spend time face to face over these months… you’re a beautiful man, inside and out. And I’m here right now because I _do_ want to be closer to you in multiple ways, one of them physical.” She took a deep breath, not looking at him.

“But, if you feel that you’re here because it’s what you’re arbitrarily supposed to be doing-“

“No,” he said quickly, sitting back up and reaching for her hand. “No. I didn’t have the words to describe it, but I – I feel the same way about you,” he insisted earnestly. “Earlier, when we got in here, that was absolutely real for me, no play acting. I was kind of surprising myself, to be honest. And… I want to be closer to you too. I’m just not sure what that entails, for us specifically.”

She finally looked up to meet his eyes, and smiled, lacing their fingers together. 

“I’d say there’s plenty of time to figure it out.”

*******

It turned out, they didn’t get around to actually having sex that night, at least not in the traditional way. They kissed more, and gradually undressed, and ran their hands over each other’s bodies in gentle, playful exploration. They talked for hours, pressed close together and separated and together again. At George’s shy suggestion and Martha’s enthusiastic agreement, they shared a bath in the room’s enviable tub, laughing while they cleaned up the escaped water after. Then they came together once more on the bed, arms wrapped around each other, their conversation now whispered into bare shoulders and damp hair. And by the time the sky just barely started to lighten through the eastern window, they fell asleep.

The kits would stay in Martha’s bag, though, to be opened again eventually. They had other rooms, other long nights, and other pale dawns waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I a massive tease? If that's how you want to think of it lol. The way I see it, there's hundreds if not thousands of users in this rabbit whole able, willing, and comfortable with writing smut. My focus is elsewhere.
> 
> So if it wasn't clear, in this AU both Martha and George are on the ace spectrum, and they're both likely demi-sexual.
> 
> This chapter definitely had more telling than showing in certain respects, largely because this chapter (and largely the fic itself) came from it being a perfect opportunity to both spoof and attempt to sincerely subvert typical hollywood sex scenes (it was directly inspired by one scene in one film particularly. If you want to know the deets, pop over to YouTube and search for Kyle Kallgren's review of "Room in Rome." Basically I wanted to incorporate more realism in the scene, both in terms of safe sex practices and the little hangups (like dropping your partner) that can throw a wrench in, and how people's reactions to them can make/break the rest of the encounter. There's also the question in my head of how two people who don't do as well with unspoken social cues would navigate an encounter of their own.
> 
> Martha ain't kink-shaming anyone, y'all... she just knows her squicks lol
> 
> There's probably stuff I'm forgetting, but that's it for now. Feedback appreciated as always.


End file.
